


Slight Remarks

by raienetta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (it that how you spell it?), Curses, I'm Bad At Tagging, This Really Needs Editing, Torture, Vanishing Cabinets (Harry Potter), but also fanfic, i jumped the gun with editing, sort of character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21570139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raienetta/pseuds/raienetta
Summary: >> One-shot written for the practice IWSC <<Draco realises why Voldemort loves using the cruciatus curse.
Kudos: 2





	Slight Remarks

Draco's parents did not realise the damage that their slight remarks caused. He would not say that it was completely their fault, but who else's fault could it be? Sometimes they did not realise that he was listening so they would stop worrying about his feelings, sometimes they just did not turn on their internal filters. If Draco's parents did realise what they said (which was rare enough to be called never), they made the mistake of assuming he would not remember or would not understand what they had said.

The first time this happened was when Draco was seven years old and he was sitting on his mother's knee. They were taking turns to read sections of a book whose name Draco did not care enough to remember. It was Draco's turn to read and he finished his part before looking at his mother. She was staring at him and when he called her name she gently but lovingly poked him in the stomach and said, "You're getting chubby."

The comment stayed with Draco, igniting a pain in him that he had never felt before. It felt like everything in his body was on fire and he just wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. By the time that he got his Hogwarts letter, Draco was hardly eating anything yet still he pinched his belly and said to his reflection, "You're getting fat."

* * *

The next time it happened was when he was eight. Draco had come downstairs without brushing his hair. He was proud of his naturally loose curls and how they looked bouncing softly as he walked. The small platinum ringlets were quite beautiful when they curling around his ears and face, despite straightening out and frizzing whenever they were brushed. Draco, being the first to the table, sat down and began putting food on his plate.

He had almost finished when his father walked into the room. His father was already dressed for the day and after taking one look at Draco's curls he sneered. His father told him to stand up and go upstairs to brush his hair because, "People can tell what sort of person you are by your hair, and anyone with curly hair is no Malfoy."

Draco was so embarrassed that he never forgot to brush and gel his hair before coming down ever again. He didn't want people to see him as anything but what he was—a Malfoy.

* * *

When he was nine, Draco's mother and father were both in the room. Neither one was paying him much attention, both too caught up in their activities. Draco's mother was completing her delicate embroidery and his father was reading a contract of some sort (Draco never bothered to learn what it said was because as soon as he figured out the first few lines, a new contract would take its place). Draco had completed the work that his tutor had set and had taken to pulling faces at Dobby.

He had just crossed his eyes, tilted his head to the side and stuck out his tongue at the elf when his father told him, "If you keep pulling faces you'll get stuck that way."

Draco immediately stopped pulling the face and looked back at his work. After that day Draco stopped pulling faces for fear of disfiguring his features. The feeling of pain grew and when Draco was alone in his room that night, he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

When he was ten, Draco sat at the table enjoying a glass of rich chocolate mousse. The elves had made it as a surprise for his birthday because Draco really, really, really liked chocolate. Yet his mother had not even waited until he had finished before she looked him in his eye and told him 'Stop eating chocolate, it causes acne'. Draco tried to ignore her words but after he put the next spoon in his mouth he couldn't help but put the unfinished cup down.

At age twelve, Draco sat at the Slytherin table with a face free of acne and unable to remember the taste of chocolate.

* * *

When he was eleven Draco was dropped off at platform 9¾. His mother hugged him and called him her 'Perfect Dragon', Draco couldn't help but sink into it and squeeze her as tightly as possible. After that, his father clamped a hand on his shoulder and wished him well. Draco nodded at him before turning around and climbing the stairs onto the train where he met with Crabbe and Goyle.

Opening a random door Draco came face to face with Weasley and the boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He could see the iconic lightning bolt scar, "Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes." Harry said while looking at Crabbe and Goyle.

He introduced them to Harry before introducing himself. Offering his hand to him, his pale cheeks tinged pink when he was denied. The constant pain and phobia that Draco had grown so used to throughout his childhood had reared their huge ugly heads. Of course, Harry wouldn't want a friend like Draco. Harry was so skinny compared to Draco, so much more perfect.

* * *

When he was thirteen Draco Malfoy stood in front of the mirror in his room at Malfoy Manor. He had closed and locked the door with a simple locking charm, yet had left the curtains open. His nightshirt had been abandoned on the floor, leaving him only his pants to cover his emaciated figure.

As Draco remembered his father's speech about being the perfect pureblood husband, he ran a hand over his collarbone, down his ribs and onto his stomach. Pinching it Draco told himself, "You're not husband material." and felt the burning pain came back.

Draco had never experienced it so intently or from his own words. Climbing into bed, he squeezed a pillow tightly and buried his face. Draco let the pillow soak up all his tears and fell asleep from exhaustion.

* * *

When he was fourteen, Draco's father informed him of the resurrection of Lord Voldemort. He spoke about the Dark Lord in reverence, praising him for the murder of mudbloods, blood traitors and squibs all in one breath. He spoke about the honour that would come to the Malfoy family should Draco choose to follow in his footsteps and take the dark mark, joined him in their Lord's inner circle. About how proud he would be of Draco should he choose to join him, how proud his mother would be.

Draco got the feeling that his father was trying to manipulate him yet at the same time he had such a wistful look on his face. Like Draco could have left and he would never have known, too caught up on the idea of Lord Voldemort. Only realising once he had finished speaking and dreaming about the future, that his son had left him in the present.

Draco would have like to leave, but fearing his father's rath, he sat and listened. The next hour was torture for Draco, but it felt nothing like the blood-curdling pain that he experienced when his parents made one of their remarks.

* * *

On his sixteenth birthday Draco, meet Lord Voldemort. The being—because Draco would never be willing to call it a man—was nothing like his father had described. It could not be called the level-headed and sophisticated schemer that Draco's father insisted that it was. Nor was it the driving force of a powerful militia united in their goal to stop the destruction that mudbloods and blood traitors caused to the wizarding world.

Draco could find only one word to describe this being, and that was repulsive and masochistic. It was not what Draco had pledged himself to a year ago, nor was It what Draco believed could help their world.

"Draco," The being hissed, "Come forward."

It was all Draco could do to listen. He placed one foot in front of the other and walked out of his place in the crowd. Lord Voldemort looked at Draco, staring at him as if inspecting a new toy.

"I have a task for you," He finally hissed, "You are to fix the vanishing cabinet at Hogwarts and connect it to the one in Borgin and Burkes. I have plans for its use at the end of the year, plans which will—should you succeed—involve you."

"Yes, My Lord." Draco answered.

"You may return to your spot," He hissed while calling up the next Deatheater.

Draco was petrified and could do nothing but watch as the man scrambled from his place. He began whimpering apologies as he and trembled through his explanation. When the man had finished Lord Voldemort raised his wand and cast 'crucio' on him. The man began withering on the spot and screaming himself hoarse.

Draco could feel nothing but fear about what he had gotten himself into.

* * *

When Draco was sixteen and eight months, he saw the Dark Lord for the second time. The being was still, if not more, repulsive and sadistic. He called on Draco who trembled.

"Are my cupboards finished yet?" He hissed.

"N-no, my Lord." Draco stuttered.

"I am most displeased,"

"I am so sorry!" Draco grovelled (despite the discussed he felt towards the action).

Watching from his spot on the floor Draco saw the Dark Lord raise his wand and cast 'cruico'. For a moment, Draco could not feel anything but then every single cell in his body was burning. His knees gave out and he tumbled to the floor his head bashing against the tiled floor. Unable to do anything, Draco screamed and screamed and screamed until his voice was hoarse and the only noise he could make was a pitiful whine.

Draco had never known pain like this. He had thought that the constant burning in his chest from his parents' remarks was the worst but it was not, it really was not. He screamed and screamed, refusing to pass out for fear of the pain he would feel should he wake up some other time, somewhere else.

Eventually, the spell lifted and Draco looked up at the red eyes of the Dark Lord, who looked at him with satisfaction. Draco stood on shaky legs and stumbled back into the group. He rested carefully against his father and once his brain was working again, realised why the Dark Lord loved crucio.

It was not because he was an uncontrollable sadist like Draco had first thought. It was because the spell created agoraphobics that he could manipulate to do his bidding.

Turns out Lord Voldemort, despite being revolting and off his rocker was still the sophisticated schemer Draco's father claimed him to be.


End file.
